


Reservation For Two

by telperion_15



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Challenge Response, Cooking, Dessert & Sweets, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Opposites Attract, grumpy!Michael
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 07:59:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telperion_15/pseuds/telperion_15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He sometimes – no, let’s be honest, he <i>often</i> – wonders how this happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reservation For Two

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the mcfassy Film AU Fest Challenge, and inspired by the film [No Reservations](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/No_Reservations_%28film%29%22).
> 
> Thanks to luninosity for some assistance with some thoughts :)

A final drizzle of jus and a sprig of garnish and the plates are ready to go. Michael deftly slides them on to the pass, calls out “Service!”, and then scowls at the waiter who isn’t quite fast enough collecting them.

The boy (and Michael would swear they’re getting younger every month) quails under his glare, and scurries away through the swinging doors that separate front of house from the kitchen. Michael rolls his eyes, and then snags a fresh order from each of the revolving ticket holders.

“One salmon, one risotto, two duck!” he calls out, and has the satisfaction of hearing Edi and Nicholas cry out “Yes, chef!” almost instantly, before they get to work. However, his instruction of “Two crème brûlée, two blackberry compote” is met by deafening silence (figuratively speaking, of course – a restaurant kitchen in full swing could never be considered anywhere _near_ silent, after all), and he glances around in annoyance before leaning to his left enough to see that James is apparently too busy giggling with Jennifer to listen to him.

Jennifer spots him before James does, as he stalks towards them, and her face quickly assumes an ‘uh oh’ expression as she nudges James sharply. James turns around at just the right moment for Michael to thrust the ticket at him, leaving him no choice but to take it.

“Not interrupting, am I, Mr McAvoy?” Michael asks, dangerously pleasant. “I’d hate to think the important business of running a kitchen was cutting into your socialising time.” His glare includes Jennifer, who mutters a low, “Sorry, chef,” and hurriedly disappears in the direction of the fridges.

“Sorry,” James replies, not really looking it. “We just had a lull for a moment or two.”

“If you’re lacking things to do, I’m sure I could find you something,” Michael says, still calm and oh-so polite.

“Oh no, it’s fine,” James says brightly. “I now seem to have,” he glances down at the ticket, “two crème brûlées and two blackberry compotes to be getting on with. Excuse me.”

He’s gone before Michael can say anything else, corralling Jennifer by the fridges and setting her to work speedily enough that Michael decides it would be a waste of his valuable time to continue the debate, and instead heads towards Lucas, who appears to be on the verge of burning something. Again.

*~*~*~*~*

“Michael!” January’s imperious tones precede her, as the owner of ‘Janus’ strides into his kitchen (and it’s definitely his, no matter whose name is above the door of the establishment). “Compliments to the chef.”

“Not now,” he snaps. The evening is only getting busier, and he doesn’t have time for the simperings of laymen who wouldn’t know decent food if it jumped up and bit them.

“Yes, _now_ ,” January snaps back. “The Vaughns are some of our best customers, and if they want to tell you how good your food is, then you will damn well come out here and listen to them. And what’s more, you’ll smile, nod, and say thank you very much. Otherwise I’m sending you home and putting Edi in charge of the kitchen.”

It’s an empty threat – Edi might be competent, but he doesn’t have Michael’s flare, and without that flare, ‘Janus’ would just be another not-terrible restaurant with lukewarm reviews. Still, even the idea is enough to make Michael blanch, and he knows January has seen the reaction, and that he has – annoyingly enough – lost this battle already.

He decides to give in gracefully, grabbing a cloth and wiping his hands on it, before flinging it in the direction of whichever minion has enough coordination to catch it and following January out into the restaurant.

The Vaughns are enthusiastic, which only makes Michael want to turn tail and flee. Only January’s gimlet stare keeps him in place, wearing an expression that might charitably be called a smile, but only if one hadn’t heard the term grimace. The Vaughans don’t seem to notice however, and Michael allows his hand to be shaken by Mr Vaughan, and thinks he murmurs something suitable in response to Mrs Vaughn’s praise of the duck.

Then, as soon as the customers are sitting down again, with January cooing over them, he hightails it back to safer ground, pausing just inside the kitchen doors to gather himself.

“All hail the triumphant hero, I suppose?”

James has appeared seemingly from nowhere, grinning impishly.

“Oh, shut up,” Michael snaps, and stamps off to his tiny cupboard of an office, cursing January, James, the Vaughns, and the rest of the world at large.

He’s never been good with people, and January knows that full well. Yet, she still drags him out in front of the customers at least once a week, parading him like some performing animal and expecting him to be _gracious_ about it.

It’s not that he thinks he doesn’t deserve the praise – he knows he does, he’s one of the best chefs in the city, after all. It’s just…he can’t _deal_ with people. Food is much simpler. Food does what he tells it and doesn’t talk back. Unlike every person he’s ever met. The only reason he can function around the rest of his kitchen crew is because he’s terrified them all into submission.

Except James. James talks back every single opportunity he gets. James doesn’t appear to be frightened of Michael in the slightest, and it’s the most maddening thing Michael’s ever experienced. He dreams of firing James practically every day – and he absolutely would if only January didn’t have the final word on such things (and he can’t see her agreeing – according to her, James’ pistachio torte was single-handedly responsible for the upsurge in takings during September).

The man’s just so damn _cheerful_ , all the time. And he makes _friends_ with people.

They’re not here to be friends. They’re here to _cook_.

“Chef?” It’s Edi, hovering in the doorway, and probably the only member of the crew who would dare to disturb him in here (except James, of course – James would most likely come right in and perch himself on the desk).

“Yes, what?”

“We could use your help with one or two things,” Edi says. “The orders are piling up.”

“Fine, I’m coming. Anyone would think you lot couldn’t cope on your own for five minutes.”

“No, chef,” Edi replies, and Michael pretends not to see the small, distinctly insubordinate, smile that crosses his face. The kind of smile that nobody would have dared show six months again.

Oh, how he _wishes_ he could fire James…

*~*~*~*~*

“Here, try this.” James holds out a spoon carrying what appears to be a quinelle of chocolate mousse.

Michael hesitates for a moment, and then takes the spoon and slides it into his mouth. He’s right, it is chocolate mousse. But there’s something different about it. “Espresso,” he says slowly. “And…” he rolls the taste around in his mouth, “brandy?”

“Cognac,” James confirms, and takes the spoon back from him. “You like it?”

“I do.”

“Do you think the customers will like it?”

Michael leans his hip against the counter, leaving a few feet of space between them. The kitchen is quiet now, at the end of the night and with everyone else gone home after clear-up. Only James and he – and possibly January, if she’s still front of house somewhere – are left.

“Customers always like chocolate,” he says. “I’ll think about putting it on the menu.”

“Oh, thanks,” James replies wryly. There’s a moment of silence, and then he observes, looking Michael straight in the eye as he does so, “You know, some boyfriends would take offence at being told to shut up.”

“You can handle it.” Boyfriend… That’s _never_ going to stop being strange.

“And some sous-chefs would deem it a snub, always being stuck on desserts.”

“You’re the only one I trust to get them right,” Michael says, without thinking.

“Is that a compliment I detect?”

“You’re the only one I trust to get them right _quickly enough_.”

“Oh, so it’s my efficiency you like, not my fabulous creativity?”

“James,” says Michael helplessly, and then frowns at James’ smirk.

“Never mind, I’m only teasing,” James says, and then collects another spoonful of mousse and holds it out. “Here.”

Michael goes to take it, but this time James bats his hand away and pointedly keeps hold of the spoon, lifting it a little closer to Michael’s mouth. Michael raises an exasperated eyebrow, but nonetheless leans forward obediently and closes his lips around it.

The decadent chocolate flavour fills his mouth again, taste buds chasing the coffee and brandy accents as he savours it. It’s not until the spoon slides away, however, that he realises James has followed the spoon and moved into his space, leaning up to kiss him before Michael can say anything.

James must have been sampling the mousse before he offered it to Michael, because he tastes of chocolate too, rich and dark, and layered over a flavour that frustrates Michael for a moment or two, until he realises it’s the flavour of James himself, something that Michael could never hope to replicate in a kitchen.

He sometimes – no, let’s be honest, he _often_ – wonders how this happened. How James, who frequently annoys Michael almost beyond endurance, and who is rapidly steering the entire crew towards mutiny (Michael’s sure of it), has nonetheless pushed his way into Michael’s structured, organised, dedicated life, and apparently taken up permanent residence.

How James, who is happy and cheerful and friends with everyone, could decide that he wants to be with a grumpy, snappy, obsessive person like Michael.

It shouldn’t work. They shouldn’t _fit_. But somehow they do.

And perhaps it’s only in moments like this that Michael can admit that the reason he wants to fire James practically every day is that he’s worried. Worried that if James is exposed to _him_ every day, he’ll get tired of Michael’s temper, of his perfectionism and his irascibility.

It hasn’t happened yet, but surely it’s only a matter of time. Michael’s track record with relationships isn’t great, something he’s well aware of. In fact, he’s not sure he’s ever had anything that could be termed a relationship. Most people haven’t stuck around long enough, and whose fault is that?

“Michael…Michael, hold on…wait a minute…”

There’s laughter bubbling in James’ voice, and also something else, and Michael realises suddenly that he’s managed to pin James against the counter, and in fact almost hitch him up on to it, giving Michael easy access to the throat he’s currently kissing his way down.

He stops, reluctantly.

“I don’t think this is the best place, do you?” James is saying. “Much as I appreciate the sentiment, we do both have to work here.” He grins. “And besides, do you really make the place untidy by having sex on the counter?”

Perhaps not, Michael concedes. Although the idea of shoving James up against one of the fridges is attractive. He can just imagine the way James would hook his legs around Michael’s waist, the way he would look, splayed against the brushed metal. And the fridges aren’t food preparation surfaces, after all…

“Hello? Earth to Michael?” James clicks his fingers in Michael’s face, and only the lingering imagined image of what James’ face would look like as Michael moves against him stops Michael scowling.

Then he blinks a couple of times as he realises what he was contemplating, and scowls anyway. James is becoming a very bad influence. He should definitely be fired.

James is grinning again. “Perhaps we ought to go back to your place?” he suggests. “I don’t know about you, but after this evening I could use a bed to collapse into.” The twinkle in his eye indicates he’s not intending to use the bed for sleeping. At least, not straight away.

Michael eyes him for a moment, and then steps back and allows James’ feet to touch the floor, watching his every movement as James straightens out his kitchen whites until he doesn’t look like he was within an inch of being ravished on the spot by his head chef. Then, before James can say anything else, he reaches out and closes a hand around James wrist and tugs slightly. Suddenly, he can’t wait to get out of here.

James smirks at him, and comes willingly enough. However, they haven’t gone more than a few steps before he halts suddenly. “Oh! The mousse. I should put it in the fridge.”

“Leave it,” Michael orders. He’ll make sure it’s thrown away tomorrow, before any of the others see it cluttering up the otherwise spotless kitchen.

“Really?” James laughs, and uses Michael’s grip on his wrist to pull himself into Michael’s space again. “Who are you and what have you done with the real Michael?”

“James,” Michael growls, “shut _up_.”

James does, but only until they make it out to the street (January is still about, it turns out, and she nods to them as they go past. Michael thinks that James waves back, but he himself is almost too preoccupied to notice her). Then he laughs again, and says, “Maybe you shouldn’t put that chocolate mousse on the menu, after all.”

“Why not?” Michael asks.

“Well, chocolate is supposed to be an aphrodisiac, isn’t it? And if this is the effect my mousse is going to have on people, we’d better keep it away from the general public.”

Michael simultaneously wants to roll his eyes, and kiss James. The attraction of the latter wins out and his discovers that James still tastes faintly of chocolate. Michael’s tongue chases it through James’ mouth, although there’s no way he’s acknowledging that fact. He does, however, murmur against James’ lips, “Just for that, I’m putting you on sauces all next week.”

But James’ only response to the threat is to grin insufferably. “Looking forward to it. I can be very saucy.”

Michael rolls his eyes after all.


End file.
